A Chance of a Beat
by Blue Lettered Skies
Summary: You've been a walking corpse for quite a while, but never once have you taken left-overs. You've also never been swayed by said left-overs. Zombie Apocalypse AU.
1. Prologue

**(C) Andrew Hussie. **

**Cover Photo by piyorii on tumblr, I believe.**

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_Prologue:_ Corporal

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The first thing you sense when you wake is that you are solid. It feels strange; familiar yet also new and foreign.

You exist, you're corporal.

Your consciousness is very distant at present, as if it were off in the misty periphery of your existence. What you feel, even though it is very faint, is a tight, musty closeness thinly surrounding an iceberg like mass. You are that mass. As the numbing fuzziness begins to fade more advanced cognition kick-starts in your brain.

Where are you? _What _are you?

The closeness about you grows ever thicker as you begin to recall memories; facts about yourself . Just wait a while, you'll remember who you are, that cool and hellaciously peculiar guy who was a rapping_ God. _Hell yes. Check it. Check all of it. Check the fecal matter out of it.

Oh hey, the fog that is your awareness is getting clearer. Only moments before (was it seconds, or minutes? Hours maybe? You can't tell, which you remember being very strange for you) you were feeling so far off, so vast, so numb, but now...

...You feel inescapably smothered.

Its too tight; so very overwhelming and cramped. You almost feel like one of those Jack-in-the-box toys that kids were supposed to be entertained by but they really only got scared.

You would think you used to know someone who would actually have been entertained by one of those creepy things; he was a respectable but incredibly awkward douchenugget. However your situation at hand keeps this tangent thought from really crossing your mind.

Your inner monologue runs dry as you begin to panic. Your surroundings are hard but flimsy at the same time, almost moldy, but also velvet and plush in other parts. All of it, however, is painfully close and confining; a tinny little box. Its restricting and you can't handle it.

You feel bad for all those untouched Jack-in-the-boxes. If they felt like this you'd have played with each any every God damn one of them.

Well if you are a Jack-in-the-box its time to bust the fuck out. So you do.

You begin struggling and thrashing in your confines, pounding against the wood, feeling panicked and in a mental frenzy even though your limbs and movements are sluggish in the most contradictory fashion, as if they weren't connected to your emotions at all. They're betraying your vital need to _get out. _Why wont the walls move,_ holy shit why, why, why _just _give_ already, the wood is weak why can't it just give alread_y you need to get out get me out of here get me out get me out getmeoutLETMEOUT-_

Suddenly you're buried in dirt.

Shit. You aren't any less panicked, you can't breathe why won't you breathe. Work lungs _work_ c'mon. Dig out dig out dig out, your nails are soon caked with dirt and they're starting to sting they're probably bleeding but God fucking damn it you don't _care, you need to get out, wheres that stereotypical heart-beat pounding in your head its too quite but you still don't care you need to breathe someone HELP-_

The sting of dirt and bleeding fingers is drowned and washed away by the sensation of foreign oxygen invading you. Oh sweet Lord in Heaven hell fucking yes-

You inhale, but you don't need it.

There's no heartbeat.

...

You scream.

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**Ello everyone c: This is something I thought over a while, and I'm finally out to publish a bit of it. Lets see if you like it enough? For now this is only the Prologue, so it is slightly vague. Based on the response maybe I'll keep it going! I have about 15 pages pre-written already. So if it is wanted there will be more. **

**-K**


	2. Typical Turns

**Just so you guys have a bit more to go on I'm putting this one up pretty quickly. Chapters will be more this length, I apologize for the shortness of the Prologue, but it was best if it was left separate from the first chapter, in my opinion. **

**Be sure to review so I know you want more.**

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_Chapter 1:_ Typical Turns

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Your name is Dave and you've been a limping corpse for quite a while now.

You don't really remember your last name, you wish you did. It'd probably be something really cool to match that natural swag you have going on. Maybe it was Cruz or some shit, because c'mon how is a cruise not cool. Bitches love a nice cruise. Anyway your memory is very sparse and patchy in all. You can't remember many things, which kind of saddens you, but you do at least remember some: you remember your guardian, although his name escapes you like your own, and you remember parts of your education and images of your home (you think it was an apartment you remember some scenes of a roof of a complex too). Its enough to know you had a life before this that had at least a _little_ longevity to it.

You wish that you could remember more...

Its weird, having this shitty memory; its weird being dead altogether...Or was it undead. Indead? Shit why not be positive and call it re-living. No matter what you decide to call it, undead, indead, up-dead or fucking down-dead; it's still a weird way to exist. You think you've adapted well, though.

Its not like you're the only once like this around here, the town is overrun with your fellow sludge trudgers. Still it does get kinda lonely. You were that really mysterious silent guy to the masses even when you were alive, but only having muttered grunts to listen to all damn day kinda sucks. You aren't about to go moan about it though.

Heh. Get it, Moan. Complaining. You're a zombie.

Zombies moan if you didn't know that.

...

Holy shit you are really corny and horrible.

Thank God no one can hear you mentally blather to yourself. Its your damn skull castle of irony and blathering-shit up in here. Your vassals would be continuously spitting sick fires of generous kingly praise right at your damn feet like vomit after a cinnamon challenge. Oh yes. You are the king, it is you.

Wait, Ew. You don't want people vomiting on your shoes. Never mind that thought.

Even though you are a limping body nowadays, you at least have _some_ semblance of a social life going. You hang with a few other zombies occasionally, and you even have a hunting partner that you always go find food with; you like to consider him your best bro in this messed up world. In fact, you are on your way to meet said bro right now.

He's waiting outside the decrepit movie theater you like to dwell in, sitting against the wall. He knows to find you here even though you wander around a lot. After a while you eventually kind of "settled" with this place being your usual stomping ground. Even though food is getting further and further out there, you like to keep returning. Having something similar to a "home" somehow makes you feel just a little more human. Sooner or later you'll have to pack up and go nomad or some caveman shit, but you think that day can wait a little while longer.

Your bro Karkat looks up when you finally make your way over to him (He died at work, you assume, because the only reason you know his actual name is because he's wearing one of those stupid "Hello my name is" stickers). He doesn't really react much when you give him a practiced "sup" head-tilt, he just keeps his perpetually grumpy and absent expression. After a bit he gets up like you wanted. You two don't really communicate vocally because its kind of a hassle for some reason, but you can usually understand each other pretty well by tones, gestures, and singular strained words or phrases. You don't need language, although you wish sometimes you two could actually have a conversation. You think Karkat would be pretty wordy and long-winded like yourself, but perhaps a _lot _more cynical.

You both start to head off into a random direction at your typical lopsided cadence, in search of others to join you two.

Its hunting time.

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"How many times do we need to tell you that missions are _not _the time to pull pranks?"

Whoops, Jade is reprimanding you.

"Aw c'mon, it was harmless!"

"Jake ran out of ammo shooting at it!" She lets out a small huff. "That's kind of valuable equipment you know."

"Ohh relaaax Kiddy, he didn' hurt anybody." Roxy butts in half-heartledly at your defense, as she hands off her pistol.

"_Thank you,_ Roxy. Plus its not like Jake cares that bullets were wasted." You point out. She doesn't retort as quickly as she would have, because she knows you're right. Even though Jake is supposed to be the strict Head of the Protect and Scavenge Service, as long as the job gets done he doesn't mind a few measly bullets going to waste. He's pretty relaxed over all, plus _he's_ the one who fired them all, not you.

Jade eventually just sighs and gives up the argument, going off to reload and polish the weapons your group brought back from today's mission. Seeing this as a victory you and Roxy fist-bump before going your separate ways: She to the Administration building to catch up with her sister Rose, and you to start your moderate walk home.

Your name is John Egbert and you are a grade 2 scavenger. You and plenty of your friends are dedicated to you job, going out into the contaminated zones and scavenging for useful materials like medical supplies, drugs, and even simple food. Your job is one of the most important, or at least that's what your leader says. He's the head honcho of this entiiiiree boxed in community. He's a pretty respected and well liked guy. There are obviously other really important people like your friend Jake and your cousin Jane, who are near the top of the various yet vital sections of your community, but there's a definite reason why your leader is the end all of big decisions around here, and its not just because he's the main founder.

Even though he's a pretty tough and busy guy, you and your friends can manage him down to a more easy-going attitude, get him to actually have some fun, Jake is especially good at this. He and Jake had been friends long before the world went to shit, same for Roxy and Jane. The guy has a soft spot for all three of them, you can tell, he might even have one for you too, oddly enough.

You also think he has more beneath even that more easy going facade you coax out of him; a deep regret and sadness you can't put your finger on. Your curiosity always snags on that inkling of yours whenever you catch him up on the roof of the apartment complex he lives in, which is down by the southern boarder.

You asked him once why he was up there, what he was thinking about, but he only gave you a fragment of an answer.

"I used to train up here a lot."

You know there's more, but you didn't push.

You finally get home and drop your pack on the living-room floor. Jane doesn't normally get home until around 5 or 6 in the evening, sometimes even later if there's been a casualty. She's a pretty important medic, so a lot of people need her. You aren't surprised she isn't here. You wander about the house looking for your third roommate, Kankri Vantas.

Kankri is a peculiar man, normally very wordy and kind of preachy, but he holds his tongue for the most part when at home, something you and your cousin are both very thankful for. He works down in administration, and you hear he's a bit too accommodating for Rose's liking, but he likes it there, and works hard.

When the community started, people were scrambling to get a housing, and since the ratio of people too suitable homes was quite uneven (its only just thinning out now) it was impossible to have just your own family in your house, many people grouped. When you and your cousin were getting ready to apply, he had approached you both and chatted a bit before requesting to apply with you. He explained that he did not do well in very crowded areas and knew your cousin had some leverage and could get a good place without many people. He also said that he had recently lost his brother, and would not do well on his own in the mass-shelters down at the old Athletics Center. Your cousin made some conditions and he had readily accepted them, and you have been together in the same home ever since.

You've gotten very used to one another.

You scoured the house and found neither hide nor hair of the sweater-clad gentleman, so you assume he is still at work as well. You decide to head up to the bathroom to take a nice hot shower, getting the dirty feeling from going outside the city walls off you. You love shower's, they're so relaxing. When you step out you dry off and get dressed again, and contemplate doing something.

You end up just bumming around the house like a lazy asshole until someone comes home. The first one to return is Kankri, who asks you to help him prepare dinner. You agree and wander into the kitchen to get cooking. By the time everything is ready Jane walks in the door with her ever-calming presence, and you proceed to have a nice typical dinner, small talk included. When done you volunteer to clean the dishes and put them away, and then go back to your room.

You're kind of tired from your mission today so you get changed and slide into bed.

The last thing on your mind before you fall asleep is wondering whether or not your next mission tomorrow will be as tiring.

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**fffff I hope you guys will give me feedback I'd love to hear from you ;;w;; especially if you have any ideas to offer.**

**-K**


	3. A Feral Meal

**Hey everyone, back again. Glad I've finally gotten some response from a couple of you. c: **

**I won't keep you from reading, enjoy!**

**Also thank you for the correction, the changes have been made. I'm glad you enjoyed regardless!**

**Uh, a warning. This chapter is a bit morbid. Multiple character deaths and such as well. **

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_Chapter 2: A Feral Meal_

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So the group you managed to gather is rather small. It's small and consists of familiar, liked zombies…plus one.

You totally prefer it that way. Sort of.

There are five of you in all. Which is small and minuscule compared to the mass hordes other zombies love to hunt in, they like to get caught in the frenzy like an animalistic motherfucker- but you aren't like that. You prefer this agile little group of five. It's nice an intimate. If a smaller group comes back it's always with spoils for all, rather than only a few at the front getting the actual meal and the rest of you are just for the fear factor; never getting any actual food. It kinda sucks, so you and Karkat do this. Little personal recruitment searches.

It's a smart idea, considering its coming from a couple of maggot-brained dumbos.

Currently you are all walking down an abandoned highway. The pavement is craggy and there are cars strewn everywhere; some wrecked and some surprisingly pristine considering the circumstances. Some are burnt to a crisp, at the opposite extreme. You bet a lot of these cars have been tapped already, so they aren't really worth paying attention to.

Karkat turns back to you and grunts questioningly, to which you give him a dismissive stare.

That's basically your equivalent of:

'Is this bullshit worth staking out or no?'

'Nah.'

He continues on after that, the rest of them following his lead as you continue to bring up the rear. This is also why you like this little group dynamic. Karkat always takes the physical lead of the group; while you pull strings from the back like a master puppeteer (using that phrase gives you a strange feeling, huh...). You're a man who likes passive control. Let someone think they got the big title, but hell that guy will go to you for everything he needs. You're that kind of guy (you think).

Like you said, you like the little group hunts. This group is great; perfect.

Except that one fuckin' guy, just him...

You suppose you should go down the line.

Your first recruit is this one really weird guy. He's shuffling along closer to the back end like you, trotting at an erratic pace. He's a peculiar one. For a zombie he's actually pretty eccentric; he's the one that could actually babble if ever given the chance.

Too bad it's completely lost on you. He doesn't make a lick of fucking sense, and it's not just because of his profound lisp that most likely comes from a combination of issues he had when he was alive; one of them being his God awful dental situation (They're like crooked nails dude). You think he had problems, bad ones. You can't remember what exactly that refers to, having bad problems that fuck you up like that, but you think it has to do with his head. Or maybe his heart.

No, not the heart. You think he'd be angrier and shit if he were fucked up in the heart. He may be fucked up beyond repair even more than you are but you actually kinda like the guy, he's nice. He's a needed change of pace from the typical. He's fucked up, spazy and his hair is like a mass of tangled mammoth fur, but like you said, it's a welcomed difference. You guys are chill.

You've resorted to calling this guy Toothy, 'cause hell if you know his real name and God those teeth are hard to miss.

Just, wow.

Walking next to him is a zombie you have an equally stupid nickname for.

You call this one Edges.

Edges is called Edges because she's all angles and lines. She has fucking terrifying chompers like Toothy, but hers are straight and precisely jagged, like some kind of chattering shark. She's terribly lanky (she doesn't eat enough, you can see the rot infecting her skin more than it does yours), and none too tall, and her hair sticks about in sharp pointy angles. She doesn't look much like a madwoman but hell she could have been a sociopath, you never knew her before this.

Wait, what's a sociopath again...?

Never mind.

Anyway, you think Edges is blind…or was blind. She wears red tinted glasses. You really don't know if being zombified negates blindness. I meanall your tissues are dead now, right? But you yourself can still see. So maybe now she can too? Like fuck your dead now but here let's give you the goddamn gift of sight again as a consolation prize. It's a nice thought but you remind yourself that things tend not to work like that. That's a well-known fact you can remember from your previous life. So maybe your tissues aren't dead for good like the ones in her eyes, but are slowly slipping into some kinda Cell-Purgatory or something.

Cell-Purgatory. Okay yeah this tangent is done. Next guy-

Ugh.

Fuck this guy, you don't like him.

This is the reason your group isn't perfect.

This one...the only reason he's here in the group is because Karkat likes him. You know Karkat gets weird about him, like he feels has some responsibility for him.

You know you're capable of guilt, so you wonder if Karkat ever feels guilty about the big behemoth slowly losing his flesh.

If you weren't aware losing your dead flesh is kind of bad. The more you lose the more of an animal you become. Karkat's friend (Asshole, you dubbed him), is currently going through this. It's a slow, slow process for some, and very quick for others. It depends on their situation, how much they eat, if they get in fights, if they're wounded, etc. How this guy has gotten this far you don't know. Beyond where his crazy clown-ish hair covers, you can see much of his stalky frame is discolored and there are old bullet wounds that have festering undead rot in their crevices; some are so deep you can see bone. Seeing bone is bad. His face has fared better than the rest of his body so far, but you can see the skin about his left eye beginning to peel and slough off in three distinct lines. You bet those are the direction of old scars. That eye will be out of its socket and gone by the end of the month, you'd bet on that.

Beyond this grueling appearance he's just a prick, and constantly picks fights with you over food whenever Karkat drags him with. It's like that's all he cares about in the end.

You hate him, but not enough to not feel kind of bad for him.

If he fucks with your catch again though, you will maim him.

Now that introductions are over, you guys have been wandering towards more urban areas in search of food. You've torn apart a few old buildings but haven't found much worth pursuing. Humans are smart and they've fled, so your expedition is going on longer than you would all like. It's been about a day or two, you think, you can't really remember if it was night time when you first headed out, but now it is definitely mid-day, the lights are bright despite the depressing landscape.

It's not long before you're met with taller and larger buildings to search. You tear through a convenient store and an office building for about two hours, before you hint to Karkat that there's no way these buildings will yield shit. You both have a groaning disagreement on where to stake out next, an argument in which Clown-Ass sticks his chipping nose into. You warned that motherfucker, one wrong move against you and he went down, all in one awful snarl. He only seemed empowered by the response. You would have tussled but Toothy and Edges weren't having it, neither was Karkat. You backed off but started stalking off on your own.

If they didn't follow your lead well then fuck them.

They followed you, thankfully. Turning upside down a hospital was a hell of a job for one corpse. You could do it, but it would take forever. So you're glad you got their cooperation. At a first glance, the place seems deserted, but not horribly trashed. It's a good chance someone could be here, stuck in their bed or impaired and couldn't get out, but still alive enough to be eaten, and if not well then a hospital is always a place with shit people might need. It's a place people might intentionally come back to...

So you all scatter and search the floors of the place. Turn it upside down.

You were in the process of a mental tangent as you searched the first floor bathroom when you heard the shriek. It sends a surge of non-existent blood-rush through you, and you snapped to attention.

While usually you zombies are sluggish and lack-luster, when the scent of food is about you turn into a pack of ferocious wolves.

Though you are normally the fastest of your group by far, you were two floors below the others and the source of the noise, so you end up getting there last. By the time you made it to the doorway gunshots were being fired into one of your friends; and glasses clatter to the floor. So Edges was the one who found the food. Hm.

That sucks, you kind of liked her; she was creepy but she was also a more refined pleasant company than Toothy. Damn.

Oh well, more food for you. Your sadness is over the moment her leaking body hits the floor.

The assessment of your prey is swift: There are four that you can see. Two armed with pistols. It should be easy enough to get a bite.

The Ass-Clown flags down the little one in the green coat. She tries to slice him with some throwing knives but it doesn't do much, and before she even knows what hit her, the knives are embedded in the wall and she's on her back. Seeing as that one is all his, Karkat and Toothy go for the tall female with the flowing black hair. She's firing off rounds but it doesn't do much good, within a second her hair is being torn out, along with plenty of other things.

While they do that, you fixate yourself on the boy who emptied his round into Edges. You figured out his dilemma before he did, and you're on him by the time he realizes. His face is ashen and he's sweating and trembling but you don't take a moment to hesitate. A swift clench of your jaw down on his jugulars is all you needed. He shrieks, but its gurgled and bogged down, because you wounded with purpose in that exact spot. It's easier if you go for the throat, or the neck; it's harder for the prey to get away, and if they manage to it's definitely not with their esophagus or trachea completely intact. You grip your grubby fingers into his head right at the top (no grip on the sides, they're shaved) and you start to shove his head down backwards at an alarming rate.

The merciful crack of his skull hits your ears a moment later. Your down on him and repeat the measure, bashing his innocent little head into the linoleum tiled floor.

This is something you always do, for a number of reasons. It puts them out of commission and into a more swift death so you can eat in peace. If you don't do it they struggle, they screech in your ear, they plead; they beg, they cry, it is so annoying.

(You won't admit it's to put them out of their misery.)

(You can't.)

(You've always been one to keep your guilt to yourself.)

You've pried his skull open and start digging in like the worst of savages. Food has been scarce lately, and your hunger has been screaming at you for weeks. You need to eat, but you can consider yourself diseased beyond zombification, because it's when you eat, the feeling you get is the worst.

You can't escape the guilt, but you need to eat. You need to consume them. You're eating people who you used to be one of. These were your people, but now you're devouring them for survival. You hate that it gives you a rush, that it gives you actual feeling. It makes you feel like you have something to live for; a purpose, but what a dark purpose it is. So dark.

Is this what cannibalism feels like? Wait, this is technically cannibalism isn't it. Fuck. You're a cannibal.

Buts it's either eat or rot.

You don't want to rot, not like Ass-Clown over there.

You're far enough from human as it is. You don't want to go further.

You settled on allowing yourself to eat for this fact alone. You will not let your humanity dwindle any further. This is a promise you've made to yourself.

So you consume every morsel of white and grey matter you can scrape out of this young boy's cranium.

The blood smeared on your mouth and hands make you feel alive almost as much as eating does. You're so murderous it's disgusting. You'redisgusting. What the fuck your existence is so morbid—

The friction of heavy metal against the floor vibrates into your skin and the grated sounds hit your ears just as instantly.

Your head snaps up, and you're suddenly staring down bright blue irises. He's young, but not a child. He look likes he's on the cusp of bodily maturity, only another peak left to go. He's lean but has some meat on his bones, and he's got a very healthy, delicious glow. Choppy black hair and blue eyes shielded behind clear square frames, like you and your shades. Hmn…

The medical supplies he had cradled in his arms clatter to the floor and he suddenly reeks of fear.

His attention is on you before anything else, and you know you're full but shit he looks like a nice meal—

Mr. Asshole McClowny seems to think so too. Oh Hell no. You are not having this again. Karkat and Toothy are lingering at the door; by the bloodied state of their sleeves they're done their meal, but they aren't staring at the last catch with hunger.

They don't want to be involved with you or him. Smart idea.

A small scan of the room shows you that there's no other human left of the group for you to shove the bug lug's attention off on. The raven-haired boy is all that's left. The others are either already eaten or have fled and this asshole isn't about to be convinced to go searching. He wants his fat-ass seconds right here right now.

He's ready to pounce, you can see it. It's that look in that eyes; the stance. His gaze shifts to you and that is the most challenging and feral smug look you have ever seen out of him. He's back on his haunches he's launching—

Fuck that shit. This one is fucking yours.

You lunge at him mid-leap and intercept him, slamming your lithe body against his crocked frame. You both topple into the cabinet against the wall and there's shattered glass raining down on you both as the scuffle begins. You've wanted to do this for fucking ever and all the floodgates are open, you're clawing at each other ferociously, tumbling around on the floor, scratching, biting, punching, thrashing, He's howling and you're snarling like you have fucking rabies, it's a murderous bloody frenzy and you're as free as you've ever been.

He gets a deep clamp of his jaw on your shoulder, but when he's preoccupied with that you managed to ensnare your fingers into his blood matted fringe and get a deadly grip. The pressure on your shoulder lessens a bit; he's in slack jawed and blind shock.

You pull him from your shoulder roughly and get in his face. You want him to fucking know. No one messes with you.

No one.

He's seen how you work. How you make your kill.

He knows what's next.

You smash his head into the tiles vigorously. The impacts are harsh and the blows come in rapid succession. You aren't even going to eat him, this is needlessly cruel but you're too blind to your temporary loss of humanity to even realize that, you just want him dead—

Oh wow, the tiles cracked. Interesting…

His head is spilling viscous blood into the tile cracks ever so slowly, and you're done with him. Your attention to him is gone as you turn your gaze back up to the bespectacled boy. Your chest is barely heaving, why would it you haven't needed to breathe since you rose from the ground, but you feel labored as you stalk over to him, your head hung low.

Holy shit he looks terrified, it's almost kind of funny. However the vicious murder he just witnessed you commit is kind of sinking in now, you really are a monster aren't you…

You lean in a bit too close for the boy's comfort. You can tell because his back is so tightly pressed to the wall behind him. He's holding his breathe and he's trembling badly.

Even though he's terrified and you want to eat this guy, you've had your fill today. You're against over eating.

But…

You're not willing to let him go. You killed for this meal; you aren't just going to let it walk away now.

Perhaps you can save him for later? You've never tried that before. Left-overs aren't really a thing zombies go for. It's a buffet life-style. Eat as much as you can but never take any home.

It may be tough but Karkat and Toothy aren't about to oppose your decisions or fuck with your meal after how you literally mauled and beat the Clown to death(You didn't miss how Karkat looked upset for a moment but you don't care enough to feel sorry). Plus, if you dirty and muck him up a bit no one will be able to smell fresh meat. You could get him back well enough to save for a special date.

Shit man lets be novel.

You'll take him.

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**A-Ahaha to be honest I forgot to put this up the same time I put it up on AO3 so I'm really sorry for that...**

**anyway, I can't say for sure when the next chapter will be, but it shouldn't be _too_ long a wait. **

**till next chapter c:**


	4. Distressed Captivity

**Hello everyone! Sorry for the hiatus, but I have a decent plan for the rest of the fic and have at least another chapter and a half after this already written up.**

**Enjoy**

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_Chapter 3: Distressed Captivity_

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Oh God. Oh God oh God _oh God._

What the fuck is even going on right now.

One second you were quietly gathering supplies on a successful mission, the next all your young charges are dead, your Med-tech Sollux is MIA, and you are being stared down by a blood-thirsty zombie.

You wish you hadn't opened the door, maybe if you didn't they would have missed you. They would have left.

But no, that didn't happen, and now…

You are fucked. You are so fucked. Oh my God.

The blonde zombie doesn't seem to be the only one eyeing you. The larger dark haired one (Boy is that some unruly hair!) looks like it's drooling at the mere sight of you.

You are dead. Dead and gone oh fuck—

They seem to face off against one another, like to lions fighting over prey, and before you know it they're at each other's throats and shattered glass is all over the floor from a collision with the cabinets.

You never thought the blonde would have a chance against the other, but it gets the upper hand and beats the larger into the ground, repeatedly bashing its head into the once pristine tiles. It doesn't stop until its skull and the floor are equally is bloody and cracked.

You're scared into a state of paralytic shock when you hear the telltale thunk of dead wait being dropped.

At least you will only have one on you as you get eaten.

'Cause there's no way even a zombie can survive blunt head trauma like that.

Oh God, not even Sassacre could survive this. You have no chance here, you're completely unarmed.

The blonde zombie stalks over to you, it's dead eyes trained on you. He keeps coming closer and closer and you press so tightly to the wall you could make a dent in it.

Blegh. He smells like rotting meat and blood. His mouth is covered in it.

Slightly cracked aviators glare back at you but the distance between you two is so close you make out slight details; you can see enough to know that he's staring right through you.

Yep, this is it. Goodbye world—

A bloodied and slightly grimy hand caresses your face, wiping bloodied filth and stench onto your skin. It goes through this motion a few times in succession with a surprisingly gentle touch. You were unaware that zombies were capable of being gentle.

The blonde draws back, and grabs your arm, pulling you up onto your feet. Its grip isn't the strongest ever, but you can't shake it off when you try pulling away.

You resign to your fate while it turns its head to the other two male zombies in the room. It gives a creaky nod to the one with a name tag and starts tugging you to the door by your wrist.

The four of you all head out of the building at a slow, but steady pace, not once do any of the zombies in your group, or the ones you pass by, give you more a second glance.

This is weird. Why the hell aren't they eating you? That's what zombies do! They eat you! Not take you on a fucking walk down the street. It's like they're dragging you to the damn mall or something.

You stew in your confusion over the current situation for quite some time before the topic gets over-thought and your attention span fries.

After that your eyes begin to wander. You've spaced out in panic for over an hour at the least, so studying your surrounding doesn't do you much good when it comes to escaping, but you do it anyway.

The dull sky and shattered landscape don't give you a pleasant train of thought to follow; it just makes you think of how things used to be, and how awful they are now in comparison. Half the world is dead and every day is a struggle.

You don't want to continue there so you turn your attention to the group you've suddenly become a part of.

The Name-Tag wearing zombie doesn't have much to him beyond the typical; some rotting flesh and disheveled hair. He looks perpetually grumpy and unhappy, and considering he's dead you don't blame him for looking that way.

The other one in front of you looks like a dentist's worst nightmare. You bet he'd had to be held down to get his teeth looked at because even as a zombie he seems awful twitchy.

Lastly you look slightly to the left, eyes resting on your captor. He seems…strange. Beyond the splotches of blood coating his face and the shades he's sporting you can't make many observations about him. He's a few inches taller than you and his frame is mildly lanky. You wonder if that's from malnutrition or if he was like that even before he died. That's a question you probably won't get the answer to though so you don't dwell on it.

He's rather preserved, you note, as he tugs you through a doorway, his grimy hand still leading you as you both walk.

He's dirty, bloody, and slightly greasy from not showering, but his skin in and of itself is in good condition. As far as you can see of his pale, fair complexion, it's marred with scar tissue and old wounds but you don't see a large amount of discoloration. There are no bones in plain sight either; at the most he has some decomposing patches creeping up his neck.

You wonder how long he's been dead; it probably hasn't been too long if he's in such a decent condition.

Decent for a zombie anyway, which is still pretty awful.

The sound of a metal door shutting resonates behind you and you notice that you're in an old, junk cluttered theater room. The hell?

He pulls you to one of the seats and presses on your shoulder so you sit. After that he lets you go, and shuffles awkwardly to the door you entered through.

Upon inspection it appears to be the only exit.

What happens now? He's, still not eating you. You don't get it. What's going on?

Maybe there's such a thing as alpha zombies. Maybe he brought you to give to someone else? It's a passing thought but you feel zombies aren't that aware of things to think of others.

He doesn't bother you and your confusion addled brain, but he doesn't leave the room either. He's blocking the exit, and with the moment of stillness your confusion subsides and things sink in.

You're trapped, and all your teammates are dead.

They counted on you, you were supposed to lead them, protect them! And now they're gone…you didn't know them too personally but…

Nobody will see Nepeta drawing anymore.

Feferi's bubbly talks about marine life are through.

Tavros isn't going to try to rap ever again.

And Sollux, Oh God…

You didn't see his body amongst the others when you were pulled from the room, but he's probably gone too, it's been at least four hours.

Your passive and biting banter with Sollux will never happen again.

Tears flood and distort your vision. Tucking your legs into your chest they begin to flow as you grieve for them. They're gone, they're gone and they're never coming back.

Their families will never see them again. You couldn't save them, just like you and Jane couldn't save Dad.

As you break down in the ripped rusty theater seat, pulling your hair and sobbing, your captor sits in unmoving silence.

* * *

Metal doors screech shut midst heavy breathing.

"Sollux? W-Where is the rest of the team? You guys should have been back hours ago!"

A pause.

"Sorry, Jake, they, _huff huff_ I—"

"Where are they Sollux."

"W-We got ambushed…Nepeta, Fef and Tavros are all dead…"

"Shite, this is awful. Are you sure? Maybe the—"

"No, they're dead, for certain."

"Oh Hell..."

…

"What about John?"

"John, he…I don't know."

"What? What do you mean you don't know!?"

"I mean I didn't see his fucking corpse asshat! So I don't know!"

…

"Alright, alright, let's calm down. You're shaking."

"Fuck you, don't touch me, English. I'm not a damn child."

"But you did see about three people die right in front of you. Anyone would be shaken. Let's get you to the hospital to get treated. That gash looks nasty."

"Nothing to a crushed skull..."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

…

"What's going to happen with John? Do we just assume he's dead?"

"I'm gonna talk with Dirk about it, but I don't see him saying we shouldn't search for him. He'll probably at least let us search once."

"Right…"

"C'mon, let's go. The quicker you get patched up the better."


End file.
